


Neatnik

by gritsinmisery



Category: Man From U.N.C.L.E.
Genre: M/M, Minor Violence, Quadruple Drabble
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-31
Updated: 2010-01-31
Packaged: 2017-10-06 22:06:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 398
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/58240
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gritsinmisery/pseuds/gritsinmisery
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Illya's PoV about Napoleon "smudged"</p>
            </blockquote>





	Neatnik

**Author's Note:**

> [](http://cynaravurzyn.livejournal.com/profile)[**cynaravurzyn**](http://cynaravurzyn.livejournal.com/) over at [](http://community.livejournal.com/mfu_canteen/profile)[**mfu_canteen**](http://community.livejournal.com/mfu_canteen/) requested an Illya PoV about Napoleon "smudged." Dunno if this is quite the thing, but I gave it a go.

Neatnik

Sometime after the Cold War began, it became 'hip' in America to attach 'nik' to an adjective to turn it into a descriptive noun. Perhaps co-opting the enemy's language lessened the threat; Illya had little enough exposure to psychology and he felt too unqualified to express an opinion. But this was one bit of slang he had no problem dealing with, and he quite agreed with the last Innocent's scathing evaluation of Napoleon's complaints about her scattering her things about the hotel room floor: "Neatnik," she proclaimed him with a wrinkle of her nose as she flounced out the door.

It described Napoleon "to a T," another of those damnable English phrases that Illya had needed to memorize the meaning of because he could not puzzle out the origins. Whether you were describing his dressing, his grooming, or his living habits, Napoleon was indeed a Neatnik. A place for everything, and everything in its place – that saying Illya understood, although he did not personally subscribe to it – including the one lock of hair that would slide down over Napoleon's forehead when he became too active for the Brylcreem to manage. When his life went otherwise, Napoleon became cranky.

Little did his partner know that Illya took a secret delight in finding and even creating situations where Napoleon ended up disheveled, if not downright messy. Fleeing THRUSHies were surreptitiously herded through dusty empty lots, busy auto mechanics' shops, and under awnings holding last night's rainfall. Melees were carefully guided close to the slippery edges of ponds and fountains, like a ballroom dancer easing his partner around the floor. Escapes were urged from moving vehicles, even if a short wait would allow the pair to slide harmlessly from a stationary one. Napoleon, high on adrenaline, followed, and suffered every time.

It wasn't to watch his partner lose his composure that Illya orchestrated these scenarios; Napoleon invariably left Illya alone to do all the paperwork from such affairs. No, Illya simply felt that these times were as close as he could get to seeing the true Napoleon, the man underneath the glossy shell he presented to the world. But no matter how dirty or wet Napoleon appeared, it was never what Illya really wanted to see: clothes strewn hastily across the floor, hair ruffled, skin flushed, lips swollen, expression soft, after a night of mind-blowing sex. Preferably _both_ their minds.


End file.
